Purity and other drabbles
by Syvamiete
Summary: Drabble collection of my responses to prompts of this years Midam Week.
1. Purity

**AN:** This drabble is my response for the first day's promt _purity_ in this years Midam Week.

* * *

Michael watches the boy, who sits surprisingly calmly on the bare ground considering that he had only a few hours ago being dragged down into the depts. of Hell.

Adam Milligan certainly is a much more fascinating creature than one would think. Being killed by a monster mimicking his mother just because he was related to a man he barely knew. And even still, with a mere mention of his mother, he had instantly been ready to abandon his personal Heaven and join the war that had nothing to do with him.

And the stubbornness which he had stuck to his decision. The Winchesters surely had done all they could, but nothing had managed to make him doubt himself. Not until he was lying on the ground spiting blood just because he was related to a man too stubborn for his own good.

And even after that, after being left behind by his brothers, after witnessing Michael himself in his true form descend from Heaven, he just stood there regarding the vessel Michael had taken after realizing his mistake. He had reached as if to touch but then withdrawn and asked nervously: "So you are Michael?" Nod Michael gave was followed by a moment of silence and then, with a surprising conviction, he said one word: "Yes."

Even now, when he has been dragged into the Pit just because he had given his body to the angel, he stays calm and collected, as if this would be only a temporary setback.

"Well," Adam says shaking Michael from his thoughts, "are you just going to sit there staring at me or are we going to get out of this hell hole?"

Michael hides his smile. Adam certainly is a fascinating creature, so full of hope, faith and innocent that perhaps even Hell can't suffocate it.


	2. Synthesis

**AN:** This is my second drabble for this years Midam Week. I orginally had another, much happier idea, but when it didn't worked so well, I decided to take a late night walk and this what happened. So in the end, I ended up using my birthday to torment myself by tormenting my OTP.

The prompt for this was _synthesis_.

* * *

"He doesn't seem to remember anything," Sam's voice drifts through the door. They probably don't realize that he's able to hear them.

"Maybe somebody put a wall in his mind," his brother's voice continues.

"Is that supposed to calm me down? That someone mystery freak has been poking my brother's brains?" Dean's voice rises but Sam quickly hushes him.

"But at least that will protect him from his memories."

"Fuck that, we both know who it ended with yours. What would make this end any better?"

There's silence on the other side of the door. Adam sits on the bed leaning against a gray cement wall and tracing absent-mindedly the stiches of the cover.

He had told the partial truth when he had said to Sam that he didn't remember anything since the moment he had given his body to Michael, just blackness, until two days ago, when he had woken up on dead grass of a cemetery. It was a thing he didn't want to dwell on with his brothers: there were many blackouts but also memories he didn't want to share.

He closes his eyes and leans heavier against the wall. He still can't shake off the feeling of emptiness, like something would be missing.

* * *

The first time he sees him, it's through a car window. They're driving through a small town which name Adam doesn't even care to know, he's just staring blankly through the window. And then he sees him. He's standing there on the street corner among the pedestrians. His vessel is the dark haired man Adam has seen only briefly once before and their eyes don't even meet, but still he recognizes him immediately.

He turns to get a better look, to order Dean to stop, but when he looks out of the rear window, he has already disappeared.

* * *

The next time is when he's waiting Sam to do the groceries. He's leaning against a streetlamp and watching the lazy midday traffic. And there he is, standing under a tree in a park across the street. This time they look each other and Adam could swear that he sees a ghost of melancholic smile on his lips. Then he turns to leave and just as Adam is going to step to the street, to follow him, a truck drives in front of him and he has lost him again.

* * *

After that, Adam starts to consciously wait the encounters. He sees him in the flickering light of the flames of a burning body in a cemetery, in crowd at the playground, even in the back of the church they're visiting. Adam never gets closer than a few meters and they don't ever change a word. There isn't any common nominator between these instances, hell, if there were, he would probably already be full on Twilight with it. But all he gets are these seemingly random encounters.

A small wind rustles the leaves in the darkness just outside the light of a lonely street lamp under which Adam is siting. The gloominess and remoteness of the place reflects his mood well. Being closed into a small motel room with Sam and Dean bickering at each other had driven him to the brink of a panic attack, and even now, when alone, he seemingly couldn't get rid of the anxiety.

"Michael," he whispers at the dark sky. "Please." He sighs and borrows his head in his hands.

"What would you want me to say?" a voice next to him asks.

His breath hitches when he turns at his unexpected visitor.

"Would you want me to say that I didn't know it would lead to this?" Michael asks. "Or that I didn't want it to end like this? Or maybe that I'm sorry? About everything."

Adam stands up and walks at him, so close that he could easily touch him, to feel his breath on his skin. In the pale light of the lamp, Michael looks like a ghost, but is still just like he remembers him: jet black hair, the perfect posture and olive eyes. But something is missing, the picture is not complete, this is not the Michael he knows.

He takes a steading breath. "Are you still in Hell?" he asks quietly.

"Yes."

He fights with a sudden lump in his throat. "So, you are just a figment of my imagination?"

"There are things you should leave behind, to forget," Michael says smiling sadly.

Adam shakes his head stubbornly. "I don't want to." He blinks back the sting of his eyes as he reaches out to touch him and he disperses into shadows.


	3. Integrity

**AN:** The third drabble with a prompt _integrity_.

Takes place after season 8, when they get out of Hell and Michael learns that he should had been there earlier.

* * *

He leans to Adam's hand that brushes through his hair.

"You could have done nothing to prevent it," Adam says softly letting Michael lean on him. He's thankful for the boy who doesn't expect him to reply, is just there, letting Michael mourn.

He knew things wouldn't stay stagnant while he was in Hell, he couldn't hide behind an excuse that he didn't realize something like this could happen. The Heaven was deserted, many of his siblings dead, far too many in vain, and the ones left now being cast down to Earth.

He can't make himself to blame Castiel. He had seen how his brother had already beaten himself up over his mistakes. Over the mistakes he had done under a pressure which hadn't even been meant for him, not Raphael, not anyone but Michael himself. He's the one who had failed his brothers and sisters, let them down, abandoned them.

"Michael," Adam says quietly removing his hand from the angel's hair and putting it on Michael's which holds to Adam's another one. Only now Michael realizes that his grip has become painfully tight. When he releases his hold, Adam moves so that they are face to face making the archangel meet his gaze.

"It's not your fault," he says running his fingers on his cheeks. But when nothing changes in Michael's eyes, he sighs dejectedly closing his eyes and leans in pressing their foreheads together.

It's absurd how one small human can disarm him so completely, strip him from all his titles, his composure, his righteousness. He leans in the last inch letting himself to be liberated.


	4. Spark

**AN**: Adam and I have also something else in common than just almost same birthday: we are both scouts. And when a scout hears a word _spark_, the following thought is automatically flames which leads to camping.

Modern AU.

* * *

"Are you sure it's going to ignite? The wood seems quite wet."

"You know," Adam turns at Michael, "you're not helping. And once again, which one of us happens to be an Eagle Scout?"

Michael raises his hands to surrender and sits quietly on a nearby fallen trunk as Adam returns to his attempts to light a campfire. It probably hadn't been one of his greatest ideas to bring someone like Michael, whose experience from nature limited to days in a park or a beach, to a two days trip to the national park. It had drizzled whole morning and the rest of the day had been cloudy so that none of the humidity couldn't had evaporated. And of course, Michael had found the only swampy spot of a pine forest.

He rearranges the tinder, lights his seventh match and does his best to protect the smoldering spark from the water dropping from the trees. Excruciatingly slowly, the fire starts to spread to the small stocks. "See?" he turns victoriously at Michael.

"How long does it take to light properly?" his boyfriend asks looking suspiciously at the tiny flames. "I'm hungry and cold macaroni doesn't sound so appetizing."

Adam smacks him slightly on the head. "Patience, young jedi. All the good things take time."

Michael catches his wrist. "Yes, I have noticed that," and pulls him into a slow kiss.

* * *

"I'm cold."

Adam sighs and opens his eyes reluctantly. It's almost dark already and the remnants of the fire make dancing shadows on their lean-to. "I told you to get a thicker sleeping bag, but you said you'd be fine so you have only yourself to blame. So stop whining and go back to sleep."

Michael doesn't say anything, there's only a soft rustle of fabric. Then suddenly the zipper of Adam's bag is opened and there's a gust of cold are. "Hey, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I'm freezing my ass off," Michael answers simply and wriggles next to Adam closing the zipper. He squirms seeking for the best position and cold sparks run along his back when Michael's hands find the hem of Adam's shirt and the bare skin of his waist.

"Cold hands, cold hands," Adam hisses and tries to wriggle away, but Michael takes none of it and only tightens his hold. "You know, I think I finally start to like camping," he murmurs into Adam's neck.

"Wuss,"Adam mumbles half-heartedly back.

He can feel Michael's smile against his skin.


	5. Voice

**AN:** Already fifth drabble for Midam Week for a prompt _voice_.

* * *

The first time Adam hears Michael's voice is in the green room when the leader of the Heavenly Host descends to the Earth in all his glory.

He had been brought back from death, pulled out from his grave by an angel, been tortured by another and witnessed his brother kill the said bastard, but nothing has prepared him for this. The all-consuming, all-searing light fills the room fading everything else away.

When he thinks he can't take any more, the light dims slightly letting him see the outlines of the room. Dean's voice have died from the other side the door, but it doesn't matter anymore. Because _God_…

He doesn't have words to describe the creature before him. It's all light and shadows, blasts of wind and electricity of oncoming storm, fierce fire and wings…

The creature (Michael, because _this_ is Michael, the General of God's army) looks down at him making him want to crawl into some hole and never see a light of day again. A soft hum surrounds him, coming from everywhere and nowhere.

"Interesting," Michael says managing to sound curious. "You didn't die."

* * *

Next time he hears him, it's in his mind.

It feels coming from _inside_ him, and _that_ is disturbingly trippy.

"Trust me," Michael says as Adam gives his body to him.

* * *

He tries to forget the third time.

He burrows his head into his hands and does his best to curl up into himself trying to shut out the rage of ice and fire around him and the two voices yelling at each other with a language he doesn't understand.

* * *

On the fourth time there's just a voice.

"Adam."

He hums contently refusing to open his eyes and return to the harsh world. The foreign voice has some definite bedroom quality in it, which sends pins and needles along his spine. He could listen it all day long.

"Adam," the voice calls again and something brushes his shoulder. There's a hint of worry, which doesn't suit the voice at all, what makes him finally open his eyes. He blinks at the sun light and starts to slowly distinguish the outlines of a man bend over him and _well hello there sex__‒ Shit._

The recognition strikes him and he slumps back squishing his eyes shut and resisting an urge to bury his face to the grass beneath him. That hadn't probably been the most appropriate way to react for being addressed by the Prince of Heaven.


	6. Humor

**AN:** 6th drabble for Midam Week with a prompt _humor_.

* * *

"Come on, Mickey, admit that it was a bit funny," Adam says poking Michael to the side from his not so ergonomic lying position on the couch.

"I can't see it. He made fun of Father," his boyfriend (the word sounds still a bit weird) looks at the closed television with an expression of disgust.

Adam sighs. Watching late night television with an angel isn't as easy as he had hoped. Being the almighty celestial beings with practically unlimited knowledge about the universe angels seemed to be surprisingly incompetent to understand humor and cultural references. And he hadn't realized until now how many religion jokes there actually were in TV.

"He didn't made fun of God per se, he was just mocking the people who think everything they do is conducted by God," he argues. The lack of funny bone seems to be a norm among the angels. He and Michael had known each other for centuries, but he still has to explain half of his jokes. And he would think twice before telling Raphael a pun again. Even Castiel, who had been already quite long in Dean's pop culture education program, doesn't catch some of the punch lines. Gabriel had to be adopted.

"You can be such a stick in a mud," Adam grumbles continuing to poke Michael with a pen he had used to fill a cross word (a habit he had picked from his grandma as a kid). "I start to question your ability to even make a joke."

Michael catches his wrist and confiscates the pen. He doesn't answer anything, just traces the veins in Adam's arm with his finger. Adam has already used to these silent moments, so he lays still enjoying the touch and taking an opportunity to scrutinize his boyfriend.

Michael looks so relaxed during these moments. He doesn't seem like the leader of Heaven, more like a normal human who have found peace. It suits him. Adam could give a penny for his thoughts.

He's been drawn from his owns when Michael starts to push up his sleeve and opens the pen. "What are you doing?"

"I'm marking you," he answers simply starting to draw lines into his skin.

"Marking?"

"It's an angel tradition. I'm marking you as mine, so no-one else touches you."

He's going to say something witty about his sense of territory, but bites it back. It's the first time Michael does something like this and it's actually a bit adorable how much concentration he puts into the Enochian words.

* * *

Next morning when Adam finally drags himself into the kitchen, Sam and Cas are already there plotting against some unfortunate creepy creature.

"I'll go inform Dean," Castiel says standing up to end their counsel. As the angel walks past him and nods him good morning, Adam could swear that his eyes stay on him for a moment too long and that he sees a small frown. But he's a novice in interpreting Castiel, so he's not sure. Adam looks his clothes: his t-shirt's old, originally from Dean, but still quite decent. He shrugs off the thoughts and goes to rummage through the cupboard.

"What's that?" Sam asks as he carries a bowl and a packet of cereals at the table.

"What?" he looks down at his hands noticing the words Michael wrote to his arm last night. "Oh, that's a mark Michael made to keep me safe."

Sam looks it for a while and then burrows his brows.

"What?" Adam asks not liking the expression.

"I must have read it wrong," his brother shrugs and there's no way in hell Adam can get anything else out of him.

* * *

It's a sure thing Adam's not going to call Raphael for translation, so he takes his last choice.

"Gabriel," he calls at the yard, he doesn't want that anyone else know about this.

There's a beat of wings and when he turns, the youngest archangel is grinning at him.

"Well, hello, kiddo. How are things going in the Winchester clan? No the threat of an impending doom or dying lately?"

Adam brushes it off and goes straight to the matter. "I want you to translate something for me."

Gabriel raises a brow curiously.

"Michael wrote this," Adam says rolling his sleeve. "He said it was a mark to prevent anyone from harming me."

He hadn't expected the laughter. "Sorry," Gabriel says when his laugh has subsidized into chuckles. "I knew that my brother could be a bit possessive, but this is something new."

* * *

"Michael!" he yells striding into the living room not caring who might hear him.

Feathers rustle and the said angel appears standing in front of him.

"What's wrong? You look distressed?"

"_This_ is wrong," he yanks his sleeve up.

"I already told you that it's quite normal that angels mark humans that are important for them. Castiel has done it to your brother."

"Yes, but it's just a hand print. He didn't write 'property of archangel Michael, hands off' on Dean!"

There's a shadow of a smile ghosting on Michael's lips. "I can make it permanent if you want."

Only his quick reflexes save him from a flying cushion.

* * *

**AN:** The show Adam and Michael were watching is _Colbert Report_ from 2nd of October.


	7. Transformation

**AN: **This is the last drabble for this years Midam Week with a prompt _transformation_. Thank you for everyone who read these and hope you enjoyed.

* * *

"If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger."  
― Emily Brontë, _Wuthering Heights_

* * *

Something has changed in Adam. When Dean first met the kid (the real one, not the ghoul in disguise), he had been a sassy kid who didn't take shit from anyone, but now he just sits there staring into nothingness. He haven't said a word in five days and Sam have to urge him to eat even something.

It has been like this since they found him from the homeless shelter in Jacksonville where they were on a case. The kid has been like a zombie the whole time they have spent in Rufus cabin.

"We have to do something," Dean whispers even though Adam's in another room. This is a conversation he don't want him to hear.

"I know," Sam says glancing at the door. "But the problem is we don't know what they did to him down there or how he got out. For all we know, he could even be soulless."

Dean doesn't admit that he has been thinking it. He had just not been ready to face the possibility that another of his brothers would have to go through the same ordeal.

He looks at Cas who takes the hint. "I can test that if you want."

Dean nods. "That way we can check at least something out of our list."

When they step back into the room, Adam is sitting in the same armchair they left him ten minutes ago staring the same part of the opposite wall. He doesn't react to his brothers but stiffens when Cas comes in behind them.

Cas seems to be one of the few things that can get a reaction out of him. Another one is Lucifer's name, which makes him pull even more into his shell and when they had once mentioned Michael, Adam had locked into his bedroom for three days. The only thing that prevented Dean from kicking down the door was Cas' assurance that his brother was still alive in the eerily quiet room.

"Adam," Cas says stepping in front of the boy, who only pulls his jacket tighter around himself. He seems to be chronically cold, always wearing the warmest clothes he could find.

"I need to check something," Cas continues. "It'll be painful, so I have to ask you to bite down to this." Adam looks him blankly and takes the belt he's offered.

Dean turns around knowing what's about to come.

Adam stays quiet apart from pained gasps. When they stop, Dean turns back panting his head bowed and Cas looking surprised.

"What is it?" Sam beats Dean with a second.

"His soul is still there," the angel answers slowly. "But there's also traces of Grace weaved into it."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? Who's Grace is it?"

"I can't say. I've never seen something like this before. But the Grace seems to be the one keeping his soul together. That's how he has been able to function even at the current level."

Dean does his best trying to resist an urge to punch something.

* * *

"Dean," Sam shooks him awake. "Have you seen Adam?"

He's immediately awake. "Where is he?"

"I don't know. I woke up and he wasn't in his bed."

Dean scrambles on his feet. Adam hasn't done something like this before. Hell, they almost had to kick to get him to go outdoors. Cold fingers of dread start to run along his spine.

"Have you already checked the whole house?"

"Yes. He's not here."

"You go check outside. I call his cell."

"What can I do?" Cas asks looking between the brothers.

"You can help Sam with his search."

With a nod, the angel follows Sam out of the door leaving Dean hunt his phone. When the call starts, a standard ring tone starts to play in Adam's bedroom and he finds the phone sitting on the nightstand. Cursing he throws his own cell on the bed and strides outside.

"Sam! Cas!" he calls.

"Here," Cas' voice answers from behind the house. He does his best to steel himself for all possible horror scenarios. Because it's the Winchesters we are talking about.

But even still he's not prepared for the scene that waits him. Adam's sitting under his own bedroom window well and alive but silently crying against Sam, who was hugging him tight. He looks first Sam and then Cas, who's standing behind them clearly not know what to do, but neither of them have any explanation to give. They have never seen him this broken.

Dean moves a bit closer and notices something on Adam's lap. The kid is holding tenderly a small dead bird, which lies dark wings spread in his hands.


End file.
